Gone
by SoldierNoodles
Summary: Gamzee is a basketball prodigy, Tavros is team manager. To bad everything can't be as simple as winning or loosing. Lemony fresh!


**[Sunday]**

Today was Sunday, right?

You rise from your bed, combing a cold hand through your hair before rubbing your eyes. You gaze at the thin, worn black sheets of your bed, wondering blankly why it felt so damn cold.

"Excuse me!"

There _it_ was.

Today is definitely Sunday, you decided as you rose from your bed, making your way to the door you allow you left hand to scratch it's way to your pants, and then inside them, someone was shouting outside of your front door,

"Yeah?" You drawl, cracking the door enough to see whoever it was.

"H-hi!"

He's leaning against the door frame, practically on the door, you jump back a bit at his closeness, "What?" You snarl defensively.

"My name is T-Tav-Tavros... Uh, c-coach, he asked me to t-tell you that if you d-d-don't start coming to school and a-attending practice consistently, you won't be able to play on the team anymore."

He attempts to lean back, but only with his upper body.

"Coach Keys?"

"Y-yeah..." He looks at the floor, his eyes fluttering beneath their lids,

"Is there gonna be an official fuckin' notice?"

Tavros is quiet, but eventually his brown eyes meet your blue-ish ones, "Next Friday." He whispers.

"When you come, next Friday, don't fucking wake me up. Fucker."

You slam the door, you're in your room already when you hear him cry out in pain- did his face hit the door?

You fall face first on the bed and are immediately back to sleep.

**[Tuesday]**

The first thing you notice is the noise. It's blearing and head banging, and you walk through the school with the hood of your Langston-Laurence High School hoodie pulled far over your head. In your hand is the crinkled sheet handed to you during orientation; in neat, printed ink it listed your schedule for first and second semester with your locker combination beneath. You retrieve your phone from your pocket and read Coach Key's message:

_Physics, World Literature, and Pre-Calculus all need textbooks today- go to your locker before class._

Your locker combination is 16-26-36. You go through the motions of opening it while staring at the dark grey metal of the locker, inside there are five neatly stacked textbooks, you grab three and head to first bell; pre-calculus.

Inside the classroom is large, you wonder for a minute if your legs will fit under the low desks,

"Mr. Makara!"

You snap your head to left- that surprised you. It's only your teacher Mrs. ... Ms?

"It's nice to see you in class-,"

"Finally," You let your head turn a bit, that voice was familiar,

"You can go sit next to Otis, Gamzee," the teacher said, laughing, "I'm sure you don't want to be sitting around people you aren't too familiar with."

Otis?

Oh. Deon Otis. You look over your shoulder to see the dreaded senior, he's grinning wickedly when you shuffle your way over to him, "Hey, hey, hey," he muses,

"Deon," you say, placing your bag on the floor,

"How do you pass classes, Gamzee? Yo-,"

"Tests, quizzes, and projects."

"Oh…" Deon is quiet, thinking while he chews on a light brown dread.

You crack your knuckles; the bell has rung. You spend the rest of class with your head down; you're actively listening to the lesson and glance up whenever you hear the scribble of Visa-Vi on the projector. The day goes surprisingly smooth; in your physics class you're asked to take a picture with a group of girls who'd been watching you with vigor. After politely declining they blush, saying "We'll be cheering for you on Thursday!"

At lunchtime you shuffle down, in between Elijah and Porter, Deon is seated across from you,

"Gamzee, ready for Thursday?"

"Fuck yeah," Elijah says for you, through a mouthful of hot wings, "Harrison High sucks. Their starting center is only like six foot."

You snicker. The last basketball washout was your sophomore year, last year- the final score was 120-14, Langston-Laurence over Jamestown Private School. You're sure the team could do it again.

"Make sure, uh, that you guys stretch before the game."

"Awe, c'mon Nitram."

"I'll stretch if you stretch me Nitram."

You look up from your sneakers, there, squeezed next to Herschel, is that guy who woke you up on Sunday.

"Oh!" He says, red showing through his dark features, "Gamzee I didn't get to tell you; I'm Tavros Nitram. I'm the, uh, team manager."

**[Thursday]**

"If you lose this game we're doing hills and stadiums for the next _five _practices. If you miss a shot you're doing fifty pushups when I sub you out, one lap around the gym if you foul out. Let's all congratulate Gamzee on attending two days of school in the past three weeks- putting aside the fact that he makes it to every, _optional_ morning practice and every afternoon practice."

"You're a motherfucking asshole coach."

"The feeling is mutual, Makara."

You catch the team manager fidgeting in his wheelchair.

Wait. Was he always in a wheelchair?

"Gamzee, you went to morning practice again today, right?"

You answer, but you don't look away from the light-skinned boy tinkering about near the lockers, "Yeah."

"You realize that was a freshman workout right?"

"I know."

Deon sighs nearby, "Wow Gamzee."

Was the manager really tan? Or did he have foreign roots? His skin was the lightest shade of brown you'd ever seen. His eyes were the same shade as well, just a bit lighter, his hair was silky and shiny, shaved across the sides to leave a perfect vertical strip down his head; a Mohawk with cascading waves of dainty, mocha brown hair.

"I don't want you doing warm-ups with the team." You vaguely heard Coach Keys say,

"What?!"

"Go have Nitram give you a back rub; this is a definite win game on our part, and I don't need you getting injured. I don't care what you have to say, so stay here, five minutes, and I'll see you when that time is up."

You punch the object nearest to you upon his exit, a locker. It leaves a nasty cut as you pull away, flinching slightly. You breathe in trying your hardest to calm down; its not like he's making you sit out a quarter.

"Gamzee, uh, you know you really shouldn't have done that. Realistically speaking, this could effect the way you play today, and, uh, well I think coach is going to be mad at the both of us now."

You snort, "I don't care."

Nitram blinks at you, he gestures to the floor in front of him, "Let's get you nice and loose for the game- okay?"

You nod. His voice is calming and scratchy, you can tell that he's trying his hardest not to stutter, when you take a seat on the cold tile floor of the locker room he roles his wheelchair behind you, "How come you need the wheelchair? What did you do?"

"Well, I can't use my legs. I've been in one for a long time."

You feel slightly upset; he would never be able to run down a court and dribble a basketball- everyone should experience that. Nitram's massage is nice, your head lulls as he rubs out knots in your inner shoulders and between the blades, just before letting you know that the five minuets are up, he runs a finger down your spin and lets only his nail contact your skin. Shivering, you say all right and he follows you out of the locker room and to the gym.

You can't help but to smile wickedly upon entering the gym; it was nasty habit you developed your freshman year. Around you, you can see the somewhat familiar faces of your schoolmates, the gym is packed, and against the semi-dark wood grain of the bleachers and waxed basketball court are students and basketball players alike, in navy blues and reds. Amongst the sea of red around you, Deon's father is easily spotted in a bright orange shirt, he waves and smiles, you return the greeting with the same enthusiasm.

Deon's parents were close to the only family that you had.

"Gamzee get over here before they start the introduction!"

Your sneakers squeak against the floor as you bound towards your team. You make it in just enough time to properly participate in the national anthem, and afterwards the announcer comes on over the loud speakers, the opposing team is greeted first,

"Go boys." Coach Keys mumbles.

The cheerleaders line up in two groups, they create six pyramids of three girls, and as the announcer calls the seniors' names and they run through the path created by the girls, your feet tingle. The pyramids come down and the girls raise their pompoms towards the ceiling, the second they begin shaking the reflective red material the rest of the team runs through and to the seniors. The gym erupts into deafening cheers.

On the court, you, Deon, Porter, Elijah, and Dave take your places, the rest of the team watches with anticipation on the bench, you catch Nitram handing some of the guys water bottles embellished with Gatorade across the sides. The ref blows his whistle and you lookout as the basketball is tossed in the air, Deon gets the first touch; his brown skin slides across the surface of the ball and its smacked across the court into Dave's hands. You step and pivot, sliding past your man and into the paint. Dave is setting up the play, he waits a few seconds for everyone to get in their positions, you and Porter make your way to the three point line where the balls is passed from Dave to Deon and back to Dave. When the ball is passed to you, you break down the left side of the three point line, brushing past number five, the opposing point guard, and up the side of the paint- it's an opening, and you toss the ball in the air, panting as it rolls across the backboard and into the hoop.

"_Gamzee Makara, a layup for the first point!"_

You lick your lips as the possession is switched over and the teams make their way down the opposite side of the court. Porter is next to you for a split second to tap your hand; he breaks to the right when you pass half court and stays positioned in right court corner. He's being covered by number five this time,

"I got number one!"

You glance behind yourself; number two is making his way towards you, quickly. You keep your eyes on the ball, it's being held by number eleven who moves opposite of you, "_Versace_!" you holler.

The move is instantaneous; Versace was a play that the team had been practicing since conditioning. Deon moves directly in front of the hoop, and you make your way to the ball, its being dribbled by number twenty this time, he curses when Dave comes up the left to double team him. He holds the ball close to his body and ceases dribbling, and the second he sets it up in the air to search for an ally to pass it to Dave knocks the ball out of his hand and into yours.

"_Give, or take! Give! Give! Or take! You got us a fastbreak!"_

You sprint down the court, moving as swiftly as your legs would allow with number twenty on your heels, you weigh your choices and decide a layup might result in a block if twenty has enough jump to him, you stop, and take a step back. Earlier you had spotted Deon running as well, you smile and launch the ball with one arm at the backboard. It ricochets directly to the edge of the paint where Deon rebounds the ball and with a single dribble he leaps into the air, smashing the ball through basket and hangs on the rim.

"_You get no respect in here, we see our moves in all your cheers, we know you think you are the best! Aye Ligers! Don't start no stuff won't be no stuff! We Ligers! Don't start no stuff won't be no stuff! When you're messing with the best you're gonna get checked!"_

You beam, jogging backwards down the court as you watched the your school go berserk. You decide that this was going to be a good game.

**[Gone]**

"Good game Gamzee."

"Good game."

"Good game…"

Post game, and after Coach Key's talk, you take a shower in the locker room and slip into your warm ups.

"Hey Nitram," you overhear Dave say, "Did you get any warm ups?"

"Uh, no, actually, I didn't. I got a badge for my letterman jacket and two really nice hoodies that I've only seen the coaches and headmaster wear."

"Oh, well you should get some. These things are wicked comfortable, and they're fly as fuck man."

You move to the sink to wash your face and consider combing your hair, in the mirror you look yourself up and down; the warm ups were pretty nice. The team was given two sets each. One for home games and one for away games, for home games they were navy blue with white decals and the school name written in bright red, it also featured a partial version of the Marines badge on the back, for away games the colors were simply inverted; mainly white with red decals and navy blue words. You bore the navy blue ones today,

"Hey man,"

You turned around, Deon was wearing his too, "I'm sore as shit," he said.

"Not me." You considered his statement, "Are you cold? Its fucking _cold_ down here."

"Yeah." He walked away, faking a shudder with a stupid grin.

Sighing and rubbing your arms, you wonder if Nitram would give you another massage. Actually, you had wondered about Nitram's massage the whole damn game. Retreating back to the locker room, you pulled your book bag and gamebag from your locker.

You wonder why you were still wondering about that damn massage.

Maybe it was because he was so fucking warm, his hands were feverish and soft- like a woman's. You wondered if he was soft like that all over. Only you, Deon, Dave and Nitram are left over in the locker room now, Dave is asking Nitram is he wants to get something to eat- but you realize at that same moment that you'd rather have a massage than to let the manager go with the blond.

"Hey Nitram," you yawn, "stay after with me for a minute, I'll walk you home."

Before he can answer Dave pipes in, "Nah Gamzee. Tavros says he wants to come and get some dinner. He didn't eat lunch today."

You glare at your teammate before slamming your locker shut and securing it. Dave smirks, and you consider wiping it off his face; remembering what your anger management councilor had taught you, you decide to avoid confrontation completely and begin leaving the locker room. Before you can make it completely out Nitram calls you out,

"Gamzee!" he shouts, "Here, let me give you my number and you can call me this weekend. I'm not doing anything so if you're still sore you can count on me."

You grunt at him, you're still pissed off and that asshole is in the back laughing with Deon, you hand Nitram your phone and head out once he's finished.

When you arrive home you drop your bags at the door and stomp into your room, you sleep with your warm-ups on.

**[Sunday]**

It's a shitty day when Tavros invites himself over.

He's wearing white sweatpants and heavy blue jacket, you meet him at the foot of the stairs of your house. He shows you how to fold up his wheel chair while gripping the banister; you carry both your manager and chair up the stairs- even though he rejects you the whole time.

Inside, you drop him on the sofa of your living room and tuck his wheel chair away in the garage.

"Can you do the same thing you did on Thursday?"

Nitram looks at you through glassy eyes, "Y-yeah…" He whispers, flinching when the sound of thunder cracked through the air.

You take off your shirt and sit cross-legged in front of him, his breathing is heavy while he kneads your back and shoulders, "You played very aggressively on Thursday, and Coach was really proud of you."

His shaky voice begins to pull you into a daze, and even though you never say anything back he continues to speak, "You, Porter, and Deon, play a very good game together, I'm glad I got this position as manager you know. And uh, you know, this is cool, we've never hung out before and I've watching you for three years now…"

_I've been watching you for three years now._

It sounded more like a confession than anything.

Its about five in the afternoon when you wake up, your head is nestled on Nitram's thigh and he's fast asleep.

He's cute when he sleeps.

His bangs fall to the side and his chest falls softly, you raise yourself up slowly and pull your shirt, discarded on the floor across from you, and stand your ground. Nitram's eyelashes are almost blond, he has a short round nose and a slender body, he slept tucked into the plush couch, and against the wall sized window and the dark brown of the sofa his features seemed sharp.

You begin to feel tired yourself and sit down next to him, but he shakes awake, startled,

"Ah! Uh, Gamzee! Sorry you fell asleep and-,"

"Nitram," You say, but he keeps talking,

"You just looked so comfortable and I, uh,"

"Nitram…"

"I didn't think you'd like it if I'd woken you up so-!"

"Tavros."

His names rolls off your tongue with a sharp intake of breath and he's quiet then, watching you with big golden-brown eyes.

"Shut up, and go back to sleep."

"Well, I'm not tired anymore; we've been sleeping for about four hours now."

"Oh…"

He scratches his arm, blushing, "Are you mixed?" you ask him.

He looks shocked by the randomness of the question but nods his head; his skin was a color that he'd only seen in exotic foreigners. You found yourself attracted to that and his warmth,

"I like your skin."

He blushes, pulling into himself even more.

"And your hands are soft."

"I'm… I'm not a girl." He whispers,

You narrow your eyes. There's no point in him saying that if he knows that he's a man. Or is he? You wonder if maybe he's trying lure you in with confusion.

"Are you?" You croon, leaning in, dangerously close to his face, "Why'd you say that?"

"B-because," he turns his face downwards, "You're saying things that are supposed to be said to a girl."

"I feel like you're saying that to _say_ that you're actually a girl."

"I- I'm not!"

"I can't believe that now."

"I am!"

"Prove it."

He freezes completely. Patting his chest he looks at you, directly into your eyes: "I have no breasts!" he hits himself hard,

"Not every bitch has tits."

You smirk, he's hyperventilating, leaning in more you attempt to bury your face in the crook of his neck and he leans away, "G-Gamzee, uh, I'm trying to convince you, but I think you're just playing around now," you feel his small hands on your chest and just a bit of pressure, "Stop it… _please._"

You wonder for a moment; would it be exceptionally evil for you to force down a cripple?

"I can't now, _you_ seduced _me_."

Nitram is sputtering, and the heat on his hand is so intense you can feel it through your thermal, "You're scaring me!"

"Then _trust _me, you've known me for three years apparently,"

He's shaking his head when he uses his hands to shove himself away from you. He falls pathetically onto his back and you sigh, climbing on top of him, "Listen, you'll like this too."

He's crying- well almost crying.

"Stop that," you lower yourself onto his front, maneuvering yourself as you lift his legs up so he now lies completely on the sofa.

You nip his neck, deciding that if your going to relieve yourself of this _strain _down below, you'd have to get Nitram hot and bothered; you don't want this to be rape- mostly because you aren't a rapist. He gasps and his hands fly up to your chest, he's pushing you away _again_, but you lie down, feeling satisfied when they snake around to your back instead,

"I can massage you too, you know."

Tavros groans, he attempts to speak but the stuttering is so bad that he settles for a whimper while you brand him with a hickey right in the juncture of his you pull away you have to wipe the saliva from your mouth, looking down on Nitram you smile, he's completely into it, whether he wants to be or not, his face is airbrushed pink and that Mohawk of his is disheveled. You admire the cascading tresses curling into perfect wisps on the velvet material of the couch before addressing the smaller boy.

"Can I keep going?" You growl, licking your lips when he slowly blinks,

"Y-yeah…"

You catch his lips with yours, biting down on the plump flesh of his bottom lip before kissing him again, sometime after the first kiss and before the last, he whispers your name, interrupted between wet smacks and sucks. His hands are tangled in your hair when you pull off his jacket, and his eyes are wet when you lower yourself to untie his sweatpants,

"W-wai-!"

You don't give him a chance, standing up on your knees and pulling his briefs and pants down completely, he covers himself with his arms and hands, squeezing his eyes shut as his member smacks against his abdomen. He begins to whimper again and you push him against the back of the sofa, and then yourself until both your hips are in line with each other's.

"Calm the fuck down, I'm not gonna hurt you."

He looks away, avoiding your face when you take him in your hand. He's so damn _warm_; he's squirming around, gasping and stuttering. You find yourself completely entranced and move your hand on his member, squeezing before sliding down his length,

"_Oh god," _he breathes, "I haven't, I don't-" You jerk him upwards, thumbing the tip of his hardening erection, "Haven't done _t-this_ before!"

"Really…"

You look down, he's almost a pinkish brown, you wonder how someone could have such a color down there before pulling yourself out of your own pants, "You're so much smaller than me, _Tavros._"

He shudders, his eyes open a bit. You know he's not used to anyone on the team calling him by his first name.

Except maybe Dave.

_Motherfucking_ **Dave**.

You squeeze both erections in your hand, Tavros whimpers out, calling your name in a high-pitched squeak. He feels like an inferno against you and, after failing to capture a strangled moan from escaping your throat, you attach yourself to his neck.

It's tricky, trying to get his legs where you want them to be, he's gripping you as if he might fall through the back of the couch and panting like, well- a virgin. Normally, if you weren't so fuckin' turned on right now, _normally_ you wonder if his disability would put you at ends, if they would turn you off. Probably not.

Not with the way his golden skin is tined pink.

Or how his soft Mohawk is over grown and wavy, nearing large curls.

His golden eyes are clamped shut and he's biting the inside of his cheek, it takes only a hard squeeze and a lengthy tug to get him over the edge.

Nitram is loosing it.

He screams, throwing his head back and gripping your shoulders, you smirk when he tries to pull forwards; he attempts so lean towards you but his head is only serving as a weight.

After that, he passes out.

You sigh, looking down at your own excited state. As you begin to satisfy yourself with Nitram all over your shirt and hands you fall against him.

You hope he doesn't expect to go to school tomorrow.

* * *

_I had to._

_Dirty boys._

_You know I always hate things that I publish after the first day. _


End file.
